Big Nose Kates is a popular 'touristy' Saloon 'n Eatery on Allen Street in Tombstone Arizona. 'Kate's is one of the 'places to go' if you ever get down that way.

Big Nose Kate�s                                                   Ramblins ~ 2009 William E. Shaw

Welcome to the Big Nose Kates Saloon
Grab a stool up at the bar if there's some room
Or maybe if yer able
You can find a table
A waitress here will get to you real soon

There ain't no guns allowed in this here bar
Ya gotta leave all weapons in yer car
Or in the ol' smoke shop
Down the street 'bout half a block
That's the law in Arizona where you are

We're hopin that y'all will want'a eat
We just got in a big load of fresh meat
The Sheriff's horse just died
We stripped it of it's hide
'n drug what's left of it, in off the street

Big Nose Kates Saloon has rules here too
If yer wearin' shorts, we've got it in for you
A feather boa 'round yer neck
'n a surcharge on yer check
With them cowboys laffin' at you 'round the room

Big Nose Kates Saloon's the tourists rage
Where you can dance or maybe sing on stage
That must be your real wife
'Cause the one, you had in here last night
Was a biker chick 'n prob'ly half your age

In the middle of this joint there was a mine
Go check it out below if you've the time
You can all get duded up in ol' time clothes
Get yer picture took while wearin' those
Like a hooker or an outlaw of some crime

Yeah, welcome to the Big Nose Kates Saloon
Grab a stool up at the bar if there's some room
Or maybe if yer able
You can find a table
A waitress here will get to you real soon

Tombstone, Arizona is reportedly the most haunted town in the United States. Prob'ly rightly so.  This particular idea hit me while wanderin' around 'Boot Hill' watchin' the tourists steppin' on the stones that cover the graves there.  The stones are bigger than they used to be, 'cause people kept taken 'em as �souvenirs�.  This is a sort'a one-way dialogue 'tween a 'ghost' 'n a tourist.

'Boot Hill'

Scuze me pard...
But move yer lard
Yer standin' on my face
As much as may be left of it
'Been a long time in this place

I know I'm dead
But get off my head
While i tell this tale to you                                         'Got into a bad fix is all
'n then my time was through

I was once a little boy
With sisters and a brother
I was my Daddy's fav'rite son
And loved by my dear Mother

I left home to fight the war
For the ol' Confed'racy
There I was a Sergeant in
JO Shelby's cavalry

I once was a cowboy
I also worked a mine
I tried to make some money
And go back home sometime

I didn't know what happened
Only that it hurt
I looked down
Surprised I found
This big hole in my shirt

Y'see pard... I was murdered
'Saw the flash come from the gun
He made a joke as he stole my poke
Then I knew that I was done

Strangers must've found me
They put me in a box
Carried here to Boot Hill
And topped me off with rocks

Nobody knows what happened
Nobody knew my name
My grave's 'Unknown'
I died alone
No grievin' family came

This fella here beside me
Took a short trip onna rope
He admits he was a bad man
That's why his neck is broke

He's 'least'aways remembered
On his marker there's a name
But tho he's near dismembered
Don't tread there just the same

Most of us in Boot Hill here
Never had much other choices
But if ya listen, in yer head
Ya just might hear our voices

Respect our final restin' place
On this hill, beneath these stones
'n reflect upon what markers
Now identify our bones

In morbid curiosity
If that's what you must do
But bear in mind remember
We once were men, like you

Allen Street is the main street of Tombstone. Scene of many violent acts along a five block stretch in the Wild West era.  This was a bawdy, rough 'n tumble mining town full of rough men, rough whisky 'n guns.  The 'town too tough to die'.
The sketch of this poem was penned in the Crystal Palace Saloon at the corner of 5th �n Allen one night durin' the Helldorado celebration.

'Allen Street'

There's always been a presence there
When the wind blows from the south
Sometimes hats go flyin'
And sand gets in your mouth

Perhaps it's Johnny Ringo
Or maybe Curly Bill
Hangin' 'round the Bird Cage there
'n up to mischief still

The tourists are oblivious
As they most always are
They just want'a do some shopping
Or hang out inna bar

They wanna go 'n see the show
At the old OK Corral
Then get a drink at some saloon                                Or wander 'round awhile

If they saw those ghostly outlaws
They'd go runnin' down the street
Sheddin' all their souvenirs
'n whatall they done eat.

I can't stand on 5th 'n Allen
In the quiet of the night
Outside the Crystal Palace
And not visualize a fight

Imagining where Virgil Earp
Had his elbow blown away
By a shotgun blast in days long past
'n the outlaws got away

The sound of my own boots 'n spurs
On the boardwalk late at night
Have echoed a companion
Unseen... but there all right

In the Bird Cage theatre
Beneath the old first floor
There's ghosts about the tables
In the brothel cribs are more

There's no rage beneath that stage
They're just hangin' out
They won't say 'Boo' or bother you
They're comfortable no doubt

T'was here they shared the good times
Where now, tourists come to stare
"Whatinhell 'these pilgrims lookin' at?"
The ghosts all laugh 'n swear

An outlaw gang of restless spirits
'Come down from Boot Hill...
Deprived of life by gun or knife
They wander Tombstone still

I often wonder what they think
Of motorcycles, trucks 'n cars
And these strangely dressed intruders
Hangin' out in these old bars

Or the cowboys mixed among 'em
Heeled with a gun or two
"By damn, we'd go to jail for that
Back in '82"

"Ain't none of 'em can see us"
A ghostly outlaw said
"We never got to heaven, boys
But we sure as Hell are dead"

So there they are assembled
Out there on Allen Street
In the town too tough to die
Their boots still on their feet

So please do have a caution 
And pass them with respect
Tho they may have died from gunshots
Or a rope around their neck

They know they must remain here
For generations yet to come
They put the "Wild" in the old Wild West
For that, we owe them some

This one came to me in Tombstone as a fella related the origin of the term 'Shot' began there. Whiskey was 12 cents... 'same as a bullet. Metallic cartridges had been around or some years, but I suppose folks still referred to ammo as shot, as they did with cap 'n ball. I don't know... or know if anyone really knows the origin of 'bullet' when referring to a complete round.

The word 'round' seems to have originated in the shape of the projectile. Even today, metallic cartridge pistol ammunition is classified as 'Ball'.  Of course the story line in this poem is fictional, but it may well have happened that the Barter system was alive and well.

'The Shot'

When a whiskey was but 12 cents
Some cowboy came up short
So he offered up a bullet
For just another snort

"Hey barkeep, howzabout a deal..."
As he rummaged thru his poke
'"Ain't got no more damn money...
I reckon I am broke"

"How 'bout we make a trade there pard?
I'll give ya what I got"
He reached down to his pistol
"How 'bout this here shot?"

He laid the bullet on the bar
The barkeep cracked a smile
"I reckon for some .44s
You can drink some more awhile"

The cowboy drank that whiskey down
Then he asked for more
The barkeep poured another
For another .44

The cowboy emptied out his gun
'Til he didn't have no more
Said "G'nite" 'n into the nite
He staggered thru the door

He only meant to have some fun
Not lookin' for a fight
But somebody got offended
By an unintended slight

Nobody saw what happened
Somebody heard a shout
"I said Draw, you sonofabitch..."
And then a shot rang out

Oh, he�d slapped leather quick enuff
Fast as a shootin� star
But there was only a 'CLICK'.
       A sound so sick
He'd drunk his shots up in the bar

By the time those townfolk found him
He was drawin� his last breath
"I drank my last shot fellers...
'Guess I drank myself to death!"

Nobody understood it then
But the word soon got around
Whiskey traded for a bullet
It began in Tombstone town